Troubling Alliances
by SARuhh
Summary: Harry Potter crossover. When Dumbledore hears rumors of an alliance between Lord Wyatt and Voldemort, he retrieves Christopher from captivity and brings him to the school, hoping to convince the now neutral teenager to join the side of Good.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own neither Charmed nor Harry Potter!**

Hey all! This is my first attempt at a Fanfiction in the Charmed/Harry Potter world. I'm trying to get a change from writing the usual Jess and Luke stories, (not that I don't love writing those:D) and have gone to one of my second favorite shows.

Well, hopefully you guys like it.

Please review!

:)

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The grimy dungeon was dimly lit by a small swinging bulb, light moving back and forth, flashing across a young teenagers face. He was held to the wall by chains, shackles wrapped around his wrists, leaving the skin on his wrist's raw and red. The boy hung loosely from the wall, his head drooped low. His brown shaggy hair fell into his face, stained with the murky color of crimson red. He was covered in sweat, perspiration slowly dripping down his clammy skin. Chris was fighting to keep himself from breaking. He would not give in to his brother's wishes. He would not turn into a killer again. He had run from Wyatt's rule, had run from his position ruling alongside the tyrant his brother had become. He realized that he didn't want that life. The only reason he had decided to stay with Wyatt was because he was the only thing the boy had left. His family was gone, _their _family was gone. Wyatt had killed them, one by one, right in front of Chris' eyes. The boy felt so weak. He couldn't stop his brother, and his many calls to his father seemed to go on deaf ears. He was disgusted with his so called father. The man hadn't come till it was too late, till they were all dead. Leo had let them die, had yet again chosen his role as an Elder over his role as a father.

Chris heard the pacing steps of his brother's heavy boots stomping on the concrete floor. The man took steady steps and walked back and forth, hands folded behind his back. Chris stared at his brother's dirty boots and watched them stride back and forth. There were specks of red staining the leather. Blood. _His _blood. He didn't know if it was fresh or from their last little 'chat.' That was what Wyatt was calling these torture sessions now, 'chats.' Civilized conversations carried out in the form of agonizing screams and warnings from his older brother. His brother had used every tactic he could think of. Physical pain; branding, energy balls, telekinesis, the tyrant had even brought in Wizards to cast curses upon the boy and even chanted the foreign curses himself. Nothing worked though, he would face the physical torture with his usual martyr attitude. The boy seemed completely unfazed. Wyatt had then decided to go on to a more serious method; psychological torture. His brother would tear apart at the sections of his brain, pulling out memories that the boy had forced back, messing with his psyche. Wyatt tore apart at his organized mind, turning it into a bedlam. His mind was forever fractured from his brother's vicious meddling.

Wyatt clicked his tongue and paced up to his younger brother's weak form. He leaned down in front of the boy and lifted his head, "Oh Christopher," he stared into his brother's haunted, glazed emerald eyes and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, "why do you let this continue?" he studied his brother's gaunt form, taking in the dried blood and specks of bile that stuck near the side of his mouth, "Just join me again, brother. We can rule this world together, the Halliwell brothers, the prophesied twice-blessed and his half Elder brother. We'd be unstoppable."

Chris' lips curled into a devilish grin and he looked his brother square in the eye. A small scoff escaped his lips, "I'd rather die than rule beside you, _Lord _Wyatt," he spat the title with venom.

Wyatt let out a sigh and shook his head, disapprovingly, "Oh, little brother," he placed his finger's gently onto the boy's forehead, clicking his tongue once again, "wrong answer," he pressed his finger harder against the boy's forehead, "_effrego mens_!"

The young teenager let out a sickening scream as Wyatt begin to meddle with his mind. Flashes of his dead mother, aunts, cousins, and uncles flashed before him. Images of their cold, white faces, stained with crimson blood; lifeless bodies laying motionless on the cold, cement ground, eyes opened wide, twisted expressions of pain permanently contorting their features. Flashes of the destruction of the war, the millions of murdered innocence, murdered because of _him_. Because of _his_ plans, _his_ strategies. The bleak, gray scenery of the once colorful and lively city they once lived in, the sky filled with smoke; no sun, no light. He wanted to cry for his brother to stop, wanted to plead for the painful images to disappear. It was all too much; all of the pain, all of the suffering. Things Wyatt had caused--no, things _they _had caused. He was as much to blame as his tyrannical brother. Though the younger Halliwell never killed an innocent with his on hand, the blood was still there. His hands were forever stained with the crimson red. It had been his battle plans that had killed these people, his ideas. Wyatt had never been strong when it came to strategics. He was the fighter, the figure head, the leader. Chris, on the other hand, was the brains. His mind conjured up the perfect battle plans. _Send troops in from the West,_ he would point at a map, crowds of soldiers in front of him,_ attack, then when the enemy is worn, send in troops from all sides to finish the job._ _"Show no mercy. Kill all who oppose,_" Wyatt would add on as the battle plans were announced. Cheers would be heard from demons, witches, and even mortals. He was only sixteen years old and he was responsible for the deaths of millions. Even his own family's.

Chris suddenly felt so cold. Blotches of black tried to overcome him, take him away from the pain, begging him to sleep. His body was failing him. His breathing slowed and his eyes rolled back. _This was it_, he thought, _this was the end. The death he'd been craving for days. The freedom from all the pain. It was coming, it was finally coming! _He prayed this time there would be no resurrection. He couldn't finally get the supposed eternal rest to be woken up yet again in the same grimy cell.

"Lord Wyatt!" a minion's slimly voice hissed, "Lord Wyatt! You must stop, your highness, he can not take anymore! He will die, sire! He will _die!_"

Wyatt suddenly released his grip on Chris' mind, causing the boy to let out a sharp gasp. His heartbeat was now erratic, breathes coming out in quick pants. He had been so close, _so_ close to escaping. Wyatt just wouldn't let him die. Even after his betrayal, his brother still seemed to want him alive. Maybe there was still a small bit of the old Wyatt in him, the Wyatt he grew up with. Maybe his brother wasn't all lost.

Wyatt took two steps back towards the door and grasped the handle. He turned his head slightly towards his minion and spoke, "Heal him," he ordered, his icy blue eyes traveling back towards the chained boy behind him, "I'll be back later."

"Yes, your highness," the minion gave a swift bow and Wyatt opened the cell door, letting in a small crack of natural light. The door closed with a heavy thud and the minion made his way over to the limping Halliwell's form.

He pulled a potion out from his black long coat and lifted the boy's head up, "Quite a stubborn one, aren't you, Lord Christopher," he opened the vial with a flick of his thumb, "but all Halliwell's are, no?"

He brought the vial up to the boy's mouth, "No. . ." Chris pleaded, voice low and raspy. He turned his head away, distancing his mouth from the vial containing the bluish colored potion, "please. . .let me die. . ._please_."

"Lord Wyatt wants you alive, my Lord," the minion retaliated, pulling the boy's face towards him. He poured the potion down the boy's throat, the boy gagging on it as it went down. Chris was too weak to fight off the demon's grip on his head, his body practically paralyzed from the torture. Once the teenager had downed the whole vial, the demon released his stern grip on the child's head, causing the weak boy's head to droop down to his chest.

"Lord Wyatt will return later," he informed the younger of his superiors. The demon stood there for a bit, contemplating whether or not to go on, "May I have permission to advise you, my Lord?" he asked shyly, sliding two steps closer to the boy.

"Stop calling me that," Chris hissed, his voice taking on a bitter tone, "I am no longer your superior. I am a _traitor_, I do not choose this side _nor _the other. Speak to me freely, you don't need permission." Chris spat out a clump of bile from his mouth and let his eyes linger shut.

"My Lord, I would take your brother's offer," the minion firmly suggested, "you won't last forever like this. He has torn down your mental barriers, my Lord, he is breaking apart your mind. . ." he paused, noting that his argument was not working. None the less, he continued on, hoping that he could somehow convince the boy with one last plea, "He has already fractured it as it is, sire, anymore damage could result in dire consequences."

Chris' eyelids dropped low as he fought to stay awake. He looked up at the demon from behind his shaggy hair and glared. He kept silent though, not mouthing his fear. He would never admit it aloud, but the demon was right. If Wyatt lingered anymore in his already fractured mind, he might go crazy. It was hard to heal the mind, special aiding from the Elders or a specially trained witch was required to fix a mind fractured by magic, and even with their help, it was dangerous. He would never go back to Wyatt though, he would rather go insane than kill anymore innocents.

The minion slowly slid out the door, leaving the weak witch to drone off into unconsciousness. The child wasn't aware when an old, friendly wizard, along with a stocky, bearded half-giant and a skinny, black haired teacher burst through the door.

The half-giant wiped his hands as he pushed the metal door that he had broken off it's hinges to the side, "Make things pretty easy ter break into 'round here, don' they?" Hagrid commented, receiving a grin from the old man.

"Thank you, Hagrid," the headmaster spoke with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling in the light.

"Yer welcome, Albus," the half-giant gave a friendly smile, and turned his eyes to the unconscious child chained in front of them, "this the boy, Albus?" Hagrid took a cautious step closer to the boy, preparing himself for the anything. Albus had warned him and Professor Snape that the boy may attack. "_The child _is_ living in a war zone," _the half-giant remembered the old wizard explaining, _"it is expected for a child like him to trust no one, attack without question." _

"No need to be so cautious Hagird," Albus informed his dear friend, his eyes taking in the wounded form in front of him, "the boy is unconscious." His eyes travelled from the young child's form to Serevus Snape, who stood steps behind both he and Hagrid, arms crossed, "Free him, Serevus." The old man instructed.

Snape suddenly whipped out his wand, pointing it steadily in the direction of the chained captive, "Vacuus ligatio," he chanted as he waved his wand. The cuffs around the boy's bruised wrists suddenly broke apart, the metal falling to the floor with a loud clank. Hagrid quickly caught the limp child in his arms and lifted the boy up to chest, letting the injured child rest his head against his stocky form. Hagrid looked down at the frail, wounded child and noticed the blood that was seeping through his shirt.

"Albus," Hagrid called the attention of his friend. The old man turned swiftly to look at the giant, "I think he's real hurt," the man's brown eyes travelled to the red blood that was seeping through the boy's stained shirt, "he's bleedin' an awful lot." The old wizard's eyes darted down to the wound. He studied it for a moment, lifting up the shirt to expose the singed skin.

"Must be from an energy ball," the old headmaster mussed aloud, laying the grimy shirt back down over the wound, "we'll bring him straight to the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey take care of him." With that, the old man turned on his heels and looked towards his other black haired comrade.

"And why, exactly, should we care about the fate of this boy?" Serevus questioned, his eyes falling on the unconscious child, a distasteful look gracing his features. He had been dragged out in the middle of the night to go on this little trip to the war ridden Americas. Albus had barely briefed he and the burly gamekeeper on the situation. All that had been revealed was that the child was in dire need of help and was to soon become a student at the school.

"Because," Dumbledore started, his eyes traveling to the boy's form, a smile forming on his lips, "he is our only hope," he turned back to Serevus and continued, "this boy is the only one strong enough to defeat Lord Wyatt and Voldemort, and if the two have truly formed an alliance, then this boy can stop them. We must protect this child at all costs."

Dumbledore looked over towards the friendly gamekeeper and motioned his head towards the broken doorway, "Let us go," he instructed his friends, "we must get out of here before the cloaking potion wears off."

With that, the old man turned and strode towards the door, leading the way for his fellow companions.

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Alright, well, there's chapter one! I'm working on chapter two, and I'll try and get it up as soon as I can.

In the meantime, please review! And I hope you enjoyed the fist chapter. Harry and the rest of Hogwarts will enter the picture next chapter. Also, the spells that I put in there were in Latin. They weren't from either Charmed or Harry Potter; I had to make them up on my own.

Thanks so much for reading and please, please, please review!

:)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm so glad you guys like the story so far.

I just got this chapter finished, so I thought I'd get up.

I hope you guys like it and please review!

:)

* * *

Christopher woke up with a had felt the sting of finger's prodding at a painful spot on his torso, causing the boy to wake up from his almost peaceful sleep. An old woman was tending to the wound on his chest, whipping at it with swabs of gauze. Chris sat up straight and backed up into the bedpost, letting out a small gasp at the sudden pain this caused his injured torso. He was about to reach out and attack the woman, but thought otherwise. She was just an old woman, not really any threat to him, and if she did try to attack him, he'd hurl her across the room in a blink of an eye, conjure up an athame, and pin her down.

"Who the _hell _are you?!" Chris questioned, eyeing the oddly dressed woman with a threatening, but curious stare. His eyes travelled quickly around the room, taking in his surroundings. The room was lined with beds, blue curtains pushed up next to each, protecting each patient from any intruding eyes. The sun was high in the sky, shining in through the ancient looking windows. Chris noted the old, elegant, architecture and arches that rose high above his head. He seemed to be in. . .a castle?

"I am Madam Pomfrey," the old nurse quickly introduced herself, resting two sturdy hands on the boy's shoulders. Chris flinched from her touch. She gave him a warm, but stern, smile and placed her hands on his shoulders once again, "Now," she pushed the boy back down into his bed, "lay back down and let me finish healing your wounds."

"No," Chris protested. The teenager sat back up in his bed and pointed towards the woman, "you better tell me where I am and how the hell I got here," he spoke in an authoritative and threatening tone, "or I'll--"

"Oh, Christopher!" the boy stopped his threat mid sentence and turned his attention to the unfamiliar voice. An old man walked up to him, adorned in a long, elegant green and gold robe. The old wizard had a sort of twinkle in his blue eyes, "I see you've woken up." The man reached his bedside. Chris gave the old headmaster a somewhat intimating glare, but Dumbledore went unfazed. The smile on his face still shined brightly, and the twinkle in his eyes stayed.

Chris' eyes quickly scanned the room, spotting a pair of scissors, his only choice of weapon if the time called for a fight. He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, "How do you--"

"Do not be alarmed," Dumbledore raised his hands up, "we are not enemies," he assured the boy, "we only intend to help." He looked over to Madam Poppy Pomfrey with a smile, "I know you have many questions, but we can discuss them while Madam Pomfrey works on your wound."

Chris hesitated. He wasn't sure if he could trust the old man, but pain was pulsating through his torso, and he knew he was in dire need of medical treatment. The energy ball had singed his skin terribly, leaving him with what looked like a second degree burn. He couldn't risk infection, and if this. . ._Madam Pomfrey _was offering her help, it couldn't hurt to take it. Besides, if the two strangers did try anything, he could overpower them. He was a witch, after all.

He allowed himself to lower his guard somewhat, and laid himself back down onto the bed.

Madam Pomfrey took a step closer to the child and dabbed at the wound with gauze as she continued her examination, trying to decide which spell would be best to fix the singed skin. While the boy had been unconscious, she had tried many different chants. None seemed have any effect though. The wound seemed almost permeant, as well as the curse that she had discovered had been placed upon the child._ Effrego mens, _she recalled was the incantation. It was strictly forbidden amongst all magical communities. Playing around with someone's mental sanity was considered unforgivable. Much to her disappoint, this was one aliment she could not fix. She was in no way trained to mend the boy's fractured mind. All she could do was inform Dumbledore of the boy's situation, tell him of the symptoms that would shortly follow--the hallucinations, the nightmares--and advise him in quickly finding a wizard that was specially trained to reverse the affects of the curse.

Chris turned his gaze towards the old headmaster, eyeing the man with a cautious curiosity, "Let's start with the basic, shall we?" the teenager went to cross his arms, but felt a swift swap on his upper left arm by Madam Pomfrey. She scolded him for almost being so foolish as to brush his wound and turned her attention back towards the injury.

"Who are you, where am I, and how the hell did you get me out of that cell?" he winced as the nurse brushed his burned skin a little too rapidly and sent an irritated glare the old woman's way. She suddenly pulled out a wand, much to Chris' shock and surprise and swung it swiftly, end pointed towards his wounded chest. She chanted a song like phrase and Chris' wound suddenly began to heal. The boy looked down at his bare, uninjured chest and rubbed the spot where the wound had been. He suddenly looked up towards the two wizards, "So, I'm guessing you guys are wizards," he inferred, nodding towards the wand in her hand, "and wizardry isn't a common practice in the Americas, so I'm guessing we're in Britain. . .?" he nodded to himself, musing aloud the information that he had pulled from the back of his mind. All of those days of studying and reading about the magical community really seemed to pay off, "Britain is the most common place where Wizardry is practiced."

Dumbledore smiled widely, "You know quite a lot about the magical community," the old man noted, "did your mother teach you these things?" Chris' eyes suddenly widened at the mention of his mother and he sat up in his bed, "Halliwell is quite a well known name in both the Wiccan and Wizarding communities." Dumbledore took a seat next to his young charge, "I have read books on the lineage of your family and the battles they've fought."

"Then you've heard that they all died, correct?" Chris retorted, his eyes traveling to the blue blanket that covered his legs, "Well, other than my _dear old _brother and myself." Thoughts of Wyatt sent feelings of rage through Chris' mind. His brother had killed them all. Every last one of them. He wanted to _kill _his brother for doing this to him, for killing them all right in front of his own eyes; but the older boy was his brother, and even though the thought of the tyrant filled the boy with rage and hate, he couldn't get himself to fight against his brother. He couldn't get himself to kill the only family he had left. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He didn't want anymore blood on his already crimson stained hands, especially the blood of family.

"Sadly, yes, I've heard the news," he gave the boy a somewhat sympathetic look. He could tell the topic was something the seemed almost uncomfortable for the child, so he didn't press on it any longer.

"Why am I here?" Chris suddenly blurted out, his eyes traveling back up towards the old wizard. The boy had quickly gone back to an expression that was meant to make the man fear him, feel somewhat threatened. The wizard was barely put off though, and his friendly smile still remained as he begun.

"A war zone is no place for a child," he started, receiving a hardened glare from the boy, "I brought you here under the request of an old friend," the old man smiled at the thought of the familiar brunette woman, "your whitelighter, actually."

Chris laughed, "Aunt Paige?" he let his head fall into his hand and let out another laugh. Of course it was his Aunt Paige that set this thing up. She'd been _oh so worried_ about him and his status in the war. She was upset with his choice of neutrality. She insisted that he joined the Resistance, fought the good fight, all of that jazz. Chris was strictly against it though. He refused to go up against his own brother. Even if he hated the older Halliwell, he couldn't get himself to fight. They were _family._ It just wasn't right. "_Family comes first;" _that mantra had been inculcated into his mind by his mother. He couldn't kill his own brother, not when a part of him--a small part--couldn't bring itself to hate Wyatt.

"She would do this," he looked up towards the old wizard from between two fingers, "so, what do you two plan to do to me? Force me to fight along side the Resistance?" Chris paused and grinned, "That won't ever happen."

The old man merely smiled and pulled out his wand, conjuring up a cup of tea. He took a graceful sip before speaking, a warm smile on his face, "Well, my plan was to simply get you to my school, as your aunt wished," he stopped for a moment to take another sip of his lemon tea, "you are still a minor, correct?"

"Why does that matter?" he snapped, giving the man a withering glare.

"Well," the man's voice trailed for a moment, that familiar twinkle appearing in his eyes, "you do know that all magical beings under the age of eighteen _must _be educated in the craft, correct?"

The boy suddenly looked dumbstruck. He had vaguely remembered hearing about that law when he was younger, before the war started. It was ages ago, and it almost felt like a dream to the boy. His mother had been still alive, and he was just a small, innocent child, who still had time for the casualties of youth; playing on playgrounds and wrestling in the dirt on beautiful sunny days. He was to start his first day at magic school, at his father's wishes, of course. The young Halliwell was not too pleased with the idea of leaving the comfort of his mother's protective home to go to a foreign school with his father. He remembered clinging to his mother's leg, his small arms wrapped tightly around her lower leg. He pleaded with her, begging her to let him stay, crying "_please don't make me go, please!" _She gave him a warm smile and gently lifted him off of her leg and held him against her hip. "_You have to go, Peanut," _she told him, "_you don't want mommy to go to jail, do you?"_ His small, childish, eyes widened and she continued on, "_the law says you must go to school to learn how to use your powers," _she brushed a strand of his shaggy hair out of his face, "_you don't want me to get in trouble, do you?" _At that, he shook his head quickly and his mother handed him over to his father. "_Don't worry Chris," _his father had assured him, "_we'll be back home before you know it." _With that, father and son disappeared in swirl of blue and white orbs.

"Christopher," Dumbledore spoke, causing Chris to snap out of his reverie and look over towards the old headmaster. Once the old man was sure he had caught the boy's full attention, he continued, "Since the Americas prove unsafe for you, your Aunt has decided that this school, Hogwarts, would be the best place for you."

Chris rubbed at his temples vigorously, trying to keep his temper in check. He couldn't believe that his meddling aunt had to, yet again, try to gain some sort of control over him. She had always been like this, every since she was appointed his whitelighter. She kept him in check, enforcing strict rules on his magic use and limiting his freedoms. They had lost contact right after the war had started. When he had joined Wyatt's side, against her wishes, she had told him she would not aid him any longer. Chris was fine with it though. She didn't understand. Wyatt was the only living family he had left. He refused to be alone and felt that the pain of isolation was far worse than helping his brother.

When she had heard that he broke off ties with Wyatt and betrayed the side he was fighting with two years later, she had rushed to find him. Chris wouldn't let that happen, though. He cloaked himself from both Paige _and _his brother. It had taken him some time to realize, but the pain of isolation was far better fit for him, though it ended up being sort of a punishment for all of the terrible things he had done while he fought along side his brother.

Before Chris could speak, Madam Pomfrey swiftly made her way over to his bedside, noticing the distress that her patient seemed to feel. The boy was worn as it was, and she would not let the headmaster cause the boy anymore anxiety.

"I'm sorry," she spoke up, laying a firm hand on her patient's shoulder. Chris looked up towards the woman, a little startled by the touch, "Dumbledore, I can not allow you to get this boy so worked up," her face held a stern and authoritative expression, "I am going to have to ask you to leave. The child needs to rest."

Dumbledore gave the woman a kind and understanding smile and rose to his feet, "You are right, Madam Pomfrey," he turned to look at the young American in front of him, who was forcefully pushing the old nurse's hand off of his shoulder. He glared up at her, clearly annoyed, "Christopher," the teenager's head snapped in the old man's direction, "get some rest. We will get you prepared to start school tomorrow."

Chris rolled his eyes and mumbled, "There's no way in hell. . ." he let his voice trail off as Madam Pomfrey pushed him down into his bed.

"Rest," she ordered, pointing a finger at the boy before quickly making her way over to Dumbledore's retreating form. Her eyes wandered back to her patient for one brief second, before turning her attention back to the headmaster. She would bring up the curse that had been placed upon the child as soon as he was out of ear shot. She didn't want to cause the boy anymore strain. The boy needed rest and she would make sure he got it.

Chris ran a hand over his face and shut his eyes. It all felt like some sort of bad dream. This whole _war_ felt like some sort of bad dream. Maybe Wyatt was feeding this illusion into his fractured mind. Maybe he was still chained in that cell, his body hanging limp while his brother fiddled with his mind, forcing these. . ._delusions_ into his mind. Chris let out a snort; _he wished. _This was one illusion his brother could not even imagine to conjure up. The older Halliwell wasn't even aware that there was wizardry in Britain from what Chris knew, or that there was a schooling system for them.

Chris let out a sigh and opened his eyes, letting them travel to the foreign form that had appeared in front of him. He recognized the face instantly, even though the pale, gaunt body was covered in blood. It was Henry Jr., his deceased cousin. The boy stared at him with haunted hazel eyes, causing Chris to quickly shut his own. He knew it wasn't real, he knew his cousin was just another hallucination. This wasn't the first time that he had faced a delusion like this. While hanging in that damp cell, he was. . ._visited _by many of his deceased friends and family. He had learned just to shut his eyes, squeeze them shut as tight as possible, and count down from five. When he would snap his eyelids open, the illusion would be gone.

He began his countdown.

_Five. . ._he remembered the horrifying screams that his cousin let out as Wyatt tortured him.

_Four. . ._the scrunched expression on the boy's face, displaying the agonizing pain he must have felt as Wyatt stabbed him with an athame over and over.

_Three. . ._oh God, the blood. All the blood. It covered the young boy, staining his fair skin with crimson red.

_Two_. . .the screams of his aunt Paige echoed through the room. The cries she wailed out, begging Wyatt to stop, pleading him.

_One._

Chris opened his eyes wide and looked back where delusion of his young cousin had been. The illusion of the young boy had vanished.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading.

I hope you guys liked the chapter and I will try and get the next one done and up as soon as I can. Harry will come in soon, probably like a chapter from now he, Ron, and Hermione will appear.

Thank you again for reading and please review! Every one is appreciated!

:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

Sorry about the long wait and all, I've been kind of busy. The year is winding down and finals are starting Tuesday this week.

Enjoy this chapter, I promise the next one will be longer and better.

* * *

_Bodies. Hundreds of the them. For miles and miles that was all that the fourteen-year old could see. Smoke rose from the fires that engulfed the buildings surrounding them, blocking out the sun. Screams could be heard from the distance--horrific, blood-curdling screams--causing Chris' eyes to slightly widen. He quickly turned his attention to the bodies beneath his feet--the bodies of men, woman, and children, all innocents--and leaned down beside one. It was a small girl, probably five of six. Her eyes were wide open, glazed over with white. Blood seeped through her shirt and covered the ground beside her. Chris kept a blank expression on his face. He really felt for the child, he should have help her--helped them all--but it had been _his _plans that had killed her. He was what killed her._

"_Christopher," the voice of the teenagers older brother called from behind him. It was stern, but somewhat compassionate._

_Chris didn't respond. He just kept his position and let his eyes travel over the lifeless bodies that were scattered across the streets._

"_Christopher," Wyatt grabbed his brother's arm and forced him up. He turned the boy with force and examined his brother's emotionless expression, "Don't you go blaming yourself for this," Wyatt paused, knowing exactly what his brother was thinking, "you didn't kill any of these people Christopher," he assured his brother, "I killed them, me and my minions, not you. . ." Chris just stood in place, eyes towards the ground, "You must understand, Christopher, they were getting in the way. They don't see things like we do. Good and Evil are just concepts contrived from the mind, they don't exist Christopher, the only thing that does exist is power."_

"_Wyatt. . ." Chris' voice came out in barely a whisper. He didn't agree with his brother, he didn't agree with _any _of this. It wasn't right, killing innocents like this. These people didn't deserve to die. They never did anything wrong, other than disagree with Wyatt. His brother had no right to kill these people, no right. But yet he didn't stop him. He shouldn't be allowing this to go on. . . _

"_Christopher," Wyatt curled his lips into a smile and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, "we've only got each other now," _Dammit, _Chris cursed, _the stupid bond they had. Wyatt had listened in on his thoughts again. He knew playing the family card would make those thoughts vanish quickly from his head. _"We've got to stick together; it's you and I against the world."_

_Chris nodded his head weakly and his brother's smile grew wider, "Come on," he smiled, "let's get out of here, celebrate our victory." _

_The two brother's disappeared in a swirl of white and black orbs, leaving the carnage and destruction behind them._

_From that day on Christopher Perry Halliwell was a murderer. _

* * *

Dumbledore sat at his desk, a cup of tea in his hands. He wore a friendly grin as he watched the American teenager that sat in front of him. The boy had his arms crossed and gave the man a hard glare.

"This really isn't the best time to enforce this law," Chris informed the headmaster, leaning in slightly towards the man, "I mean, if you haven't noticed, things are getting pretty chaotic back over in America."

"Well, the Resistance can take care of it, can't they," Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, twinkle in his eyes, "This should not get in the way of your education, Christopher--"

"I'm going to cut in for a second," his hands gripped onto the arms of the chair. He was trying to keep his anger in check, because he was seriously debating jumping the old wizard, "One; _Don't call me Christopher," _he pointed a finger at the man, "Only two people are allowed to call me that; my brother, who I hate, and my father, who I hate even more. And _Two_; War should definitely get in the way of my education. I _need_ to be in America."

"From what I've heard Christ--_Chris_," he corrected himself quickly before continuing, "you are on no side right now," he took a sip of his tea and watched the boy.

"So what?" Chris rose his hands up, "There are still people who need help. I _do _help innocents you know," he pointed out, "you don't have to be on a side to do that."

"That is true," the man smiled and nodded, "But there are others who can help innocents while you are away," he assured the boy, "It won't be _that _painful, Chris. It's just school, and besides, your aunt said you were quite an intelligent boy. You'll do fine."

"Well, my _aunt _needs to _butt out!" _his eyes travelled to the ceiling, hoping that somewhere Up There, his aunt was hearing this, "I'm none of her concern. I can take care of myself, I have been for years!"

"She's your whitelighter, as well as your aunt," Dumbledore pointed out, "You are her concern."

Chris snorted and crossed his arms, "You know, what you're doing is completely unfair." Chris watched as the headmaster took another sip of his tea, shinning him a friendly smile once the cup was away from his lips, ". . .And I can tell you won't change you're mind about it," Chris sighed and rubbed at his temples, "Fine, I'll attend your dumb school, but don't think that you can expect me to follow any of your rules. I do what I want."

Dumbledore chuckled and placed his cup down on a saucer, "I wouldn't expect any less of you, Chris. You Halliwell's are rather independent. I learned that from your aunt."

"Glad we have an understanding then," Chris smirked and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't too pleased with the arrangements, but as long as he was here he would make the best of it. He did need some rest. He had just been saved from three months of captivity.

The old man pushed his chair back and stood up, "Well then, let's get you sorted, shall we?" He walked off behind Chris, the boy turning his head slightly to keep a cautious eye on the old wizard. He reached up for a hat that sat on display atop a mantel and took it from it's stand. It reminded Chris of one of those hats that witches were pictured to wear, black and pointed at the top. No witches to his knowledge would ever be caught dead in one of them though.

Dumbledore turned and walked back towards the boy, hat held with both hands, "This," his eyes travelled down to the hat, "is the Sorting Hat."

Chris studied the old hat, taking in the creases where it folded down. He noted that it almost resembled a face. One crease forming pointy eyebrows while the other made a sort of mouth.

He looked back up at Dumbledore, a little bemused, ". . .And you're showing me your hat because. . .?"

The old wizard smiled, "There are four houses at this school," he explained, Chris giving him a somewhat uninterested expression. He went on, none the less, "There is Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. This hat," he nodded down to the hat with his head, "will decide where you are best suited."

Chris looked up at the old wizard as if he was a lunatic, "At hat," he looked back down at the hat, "a hat will decide what house I should be in." Dumbledore nodded, "Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you up there, old man?" Chris pointed to his head, still a little taken back by the suggestion that an inanimate object would somehow choose where he would be staying.

Dumbledore merely chuckled at the young American, "Yes, I'm positive," He placed the hat on the Halliwell's head, the boy's eyes going wide as the large hat covered his eyes, "Now, let's get you sorted."

"_Oh, a witch!" _a small, gruff voice screamed in his ears, causing Chris to jump, _"I've never had to sort your kind before." _the Hat paused, pondering for a moment, before continuing, _"You have quite a darkness to you, such hate, something you've been trying to stray from_._ . .Slytherin may be a suitable place, perhaps if you just embraced that darkness, you could do wonders with your powers," _the Hat paused again,_ "Oh, but you are quite intelligent, ambitious to learn, one of the most brilliant minds I've seen. You'd do even greater things in Ravenclaw. . ." _

Chris rolled his eyes at the indecisiveness of that hat, "Oh come on," he whined, "stop pondering so much and pick a house already."

The hat simply ignored him and continued,_ "No, perhaps Gryffindor would be best. You're a brave soul, very courageous and selfless. . .yes, yes, it shall be. . ._GRYFFINDOR!" The hat's once quiet voice grew into a loud, dramatic, exclamation.

The hat was lifted off his head by the smiling old headmaster, "Gryffindor. . ." the man mused aloud softly as he walked back to the mantle, "I think that is the perfect place for you." He placed the hat back down on the mantle and turned to look at his younger charge.

"There is something else we must discuss before I send you to your house," he told the boy as he made his way back over to his desk, "Madam Pomfrey and I both noticed that you seemed to be cursed. . ." his voice trailed off as he took a seat, "I believe it was Effrego mens," Chris suddenly tensed at the incantation, "it is a strictly forbidden spell, highly dangerous if used. One mistake and one's mind may turn into a state of permanent chaos."

"I'm well aware of all that," Chris crossed his arms and gave the man a hard glare, "And so was my brother."

"Well," Dumbledore started, "you're mind is already fractured, thankfully not permanently. A teacher here at the school, Professor Snape, is specialized in the Dark Arts. He has agreed to help you mend your mind. A few sessions with him every week, and your mind can be fixed completely."

"How do I know you won't screw with my mind more?" Chris asked, sending an accusing glare the old headmaster's way.

"We are not enemies, Chris," the man reminded him, repeating the phrase from the day before, "we are not going to hurt you, I promise you that."

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "Fine," he accepted the man's proposal, "I'll take this Snape guys help, but if he does _anything _to screw up my mind even more, I won't be accountable for what I do to him."

Dumbledore lightly chuckled and nodded his head, "He will only help you, I promise that."

Chris sighed. Dumbledore watched as the boy slid down in his chair and stuffed his hands in his pocket.

Chris wasn't exactly pleased with his circumstances, but he was getting help with the curse. If this opportunity hadn't arose, he would have had to go Up There and ask those idiot Elders. Going Up There would mean a definite confrontation with his father. He _really _didn't want that. The last time he had seen his father was almost one year ago. Leo had found him somehow, even though he thought he was blocking everyone from sensing him, and appearing in a swirl of orbs on the Golden Gate Bridge. His father quickly mouthed words of concern for him, and practically scolded him for not taking a side. It was like Aunt Paige and him had been having meetings behind his back. He quickly told his father to "_go to hell"_ before orbing out and making sure he was as far away as possible from both his father and Wyatt.

"I'll call Professor McGonagal," Dumbledore told the boy, cutting his mental recollection short. He peered up at the old headmaster with a look of confusion, "she's the head of your house," Dumbledore clarified, "she'll bring you to your dorm. You will start classes tomorrow, but today, just get settled in. You can conjure up your belongings, correct?"

"Yeah," Chris nodded, "the little that I own."

"Good," the man smiled before continuing, "I'd like to chat with you again tomorrow," he folded his hands and rested his elbows on his desk, "after your classes. How does tomorrow night at seven sound?"

"It's not like I can say no," Chris mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back. He curled his lips into a smirk, "Sounds just delightful, old man."

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading, and sorry this starting off kind of slow. Hermione is definitely introduced in the next chapter, and I will try and get it up as soon as I can.

In the meantime, please review!

:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

Sorry it took so long for an update, this story is getting rather hard for me to write, haha. Also, thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter.

Well, enjoy, and please review!

* * *

Chris was lead by an old woman, adorned in plaid and a pointy hat. He followed the stern looking woman around the large castles, his eyes watching as the many staircases turned and moved into different slots. There were few students scattered across the hallways, most rushing off to class, books clutched in their hands, so _eager_ to go off and learn. Chris snickered at the thought, thinking back to his days in magic school. Yes, he was one of the few students that actually enjoyed education. He spent his days reading many books, from old classic's, like _Moby Dick_ to the more recent ones such as _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. _When he was not reading fiction, he would turn the large library in magic school for books filed with spells and the heritage of the magic community. He'd sit in the library during his free period, enthralled by thick books such as _The History of Magic: 1700-1900 _and_ A Brief History of the Wiccan World._

His eyes travelled to the paintings that hung on the wall. There seemed to be hundreds of them, all scattered across the old castle walls, practically covering every brick. Chris stuffed his hands in his pockets as he studied the portraits he passed. Some were of old, elegant looking men, sitting posed stiff in chairs, while others were of young woman, looking almost angelic in white dresses, some clutching books while others sat in stiff positions like the guessed they all had some sort of relation to the school. Maybe they were all wizards that had attended?

"You seem quite fascinated with the artwork," Minerva McGonagall observed as she turned her head slightly to look towards the teenager, "Do you like art?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders and turned his head up towards the ceiling, "Not really," he could spot hundreds or portraits that lined the walls above him, lined up somewhat crookedly along the brick walls, "You've really got a lot of them though." He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and turned to look at the stairs they were approaching.

She nodded and lead the boy up the stone stairs, gripping loosely onto the rail, "I should inform you of some rules," she started, adjusting the square-rimmed glasses she wore. The teenager snorted and paced a few steps ahead, "I already told Dumbledore that I wasn't going to be following your so called rules," he stopped at a portrait of a young woman and a man sitting together, chatting. He was enthralled by the moving figures, gesturing with their hands and mumbling words, "I'll attend classes and all that," he continued, eyes still fixated on the moving picture, "But I will not wear one of those ugly uniforms," he turned to look at the woman, arms crossed, "I can't believe you actually make the kids wear those things. You must not be fans of the whole 'freedom of expression' thing."

"Those uniforms have been worn here for years," she informed the boy as she lead him down the corridor, "When I was a student here we wore them. The traditional uniform has been passed on from generation to generation."

"You still won't get me in one of those things," Chris responded, his eyes traveling to a student passerby. The girl looked at him with a quick fascination before turning her attention to the Professor.

"Miss Granger," the woman called to her, stopping the brown haired girl in her tracks, "Shouldn't you be in class?"

The girl slightly blushed as she noticed the strange boy give her an amused smirk. She quickly looked from her Professor to the unknown boy and back again, "No Professor," she spoke quickly, "I have a study period. I was just heading back to the dormitory to get a few books," her eyes travelled down to the books that she clutched to her chest.

"Oh," Professor McGonagall nodded and turned her attention back to the charge behind her, "Miss Granger, this is Christopher--"

"Perry," the boy cut in, his eyes glancing over towards the Professor, "Chris Perry." He didn't feel the need to use his real last name. If people over here knew about the war, which he was positive they did, then they didn't need to know of his relation to the dark ruler. Breaking all ties with Wyatt and the Halliwell name was the best idea, and he kind of liked the idea of a fresh start.

Hermione smiled and replied, "I'm Hermione Granger." She took in the foreign teenager's appearance, noting the brown hair and piercing emerald green eyes. She had never in her life seen eyes so..._green_. There seemed to be something hidden beneath them though, something she couldn't quite catch but could feel was there. He was mysterious, and that in itself enthralled her. He wore a simple plaid shirt and a pair of jeans, his hair a messy, shaggy mop atop his head. He didn't look like he belonged in Hogwarts at all.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall spoke up, causing the girl to quickly snap back to reality. Her eyes quickly darted to her teacher, giving the elder her full attention, "Could you show Mr. Perry to the house and tell him the password?" she asked the girl. Hermione glanced back over to Chris, who had his arms crossed and wore a faint smile, "I have to get back to my class."

"Oh, yes, Professor," she nodded her head and clutched her books tighter, "Sure." She was supposed to be studying for her Transfiguration test and she wasn't too thrilled with taking time out of her study period to be a tour guide, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"Thank you," she turned her attention quickly to the boy that stood behind her, "Miss Granger will show you the way," she informed the teenager, "Dumbledore has instructed that you stay in your dormitory until dinner tonight. I'm sure Miss Granger can help you find the Great Hall then as well."

Chris gave the head of his house an amused look, "I told you I wasn't doing that whole order thing. . ." his voice trailed as he walked towards Hermione, "Shall we go?" he asked the girl, motioning ahead.

"Mr. Perry," Professor McGonagall called, "Please do stay out of trouble. I take the rules very strictly, even if _you_ do not."

"Don't worry teach," he responded, taking a few steps forward, following Hermione who had stopped a few feet ahead, "I'm a good boy." He gave her a grin before turning back towards Hermione.

The teacher and her students went their separate ways.

Chris and Hermione turned the corner, each walking step in step, paces equal. Hermione glanced over at her new acquaintance every few seconds, trying to think of a way to start a conversation with him. He seemed to be rather content with the silence, his eyes darting around, scanning their surroundings. He finally stopped and let his eyes rest on her, both meeting eye contact for the first time. Hermione had to quickly look away. The boy's eyes almost frightened her. His gaze was so piercing, it felt like those two ovals were peering into her soul, examining her from the inside out.

"You're not from Britain, are you?" she asked suddenly. The urge to make some sort of conversation had overcome her, and she dearly wished that the boy's eyes would turn their gaze somewhere else, at least for a moment.

"No, I'm from America," he smiled and looked towards a painting that hung on the wall, "What gave it away, the accent, or my lack of that terrible uniform?"

She smiled, "I'm not the hugest fan of these uniforms, but they have been worn here for years--"

"Yes, yes, I've heard. The lady in tartan plaid explained that to me on the way up here," Chris motioned his head back, as if Professor McGonagall was still there.

Hermione suddenly stopped the American in front of a portrait, her hand firm against his chest. His eyes wandered down to the small hand as it quickly recoiled, "Sorry," she mumbled a quick apology and looked towards the portrait. She didn't understand why she was getting so nervous around him. He was just so...mysterious. There was something about him that didn't feel right, like he was hiding some big, terrible secret behind those piercing eyes. She felt as if the secret was almost deadly, something that could hurt her. She was somewhat afraid of the new boy, but also equally intrigued.

"This is the door," she turned to face the portrait of the fat lady and chanted the password, "Balderdash."

She quickly entered the house, Chris following shortly behind, "Hmm," he mumbled, looking around, "very homey." His eyes traveled to the stone fire place, before quickly dashing over to the couch. It wasn't his idea of a nice house, the whole, old stony look reminded him of Wyatt's dungeons, but it wasn't terrible.

She smiled and began to make her way to the dormitories, "If you're from the Americas," she quickly turned around swiftly on her heels, a finger raised in question, "Then you must practice Wicca, correct?"

"Yeah, and I still don't get why I'm at a wizarding school, so don't ask me," he stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his eyes wander around the room once again, checking to make sure he hadn't missed any important detail.

Hermione let out a small laugh and continued her way up the stairs, Chris following shortly behind, "So, are you involved in the War?"

"I guess you could say that," he kept a nonchalant tone as they walked up the stairs, entering the boy's dorms, "I'm not really fighting or anything though."

"What do you mean?" Hermione inquired, "Aren't you with the Resistance, I mean, that's why you're here, right?" she quickly turned around and hushed her voice, "I don't think I was supposed to hear this, but me and my friend's Harry and Ron, we were wandering the hallways late one night, and we heard the teachers talking with Dumbledore about some sort of Alliance between Voldemort and Lord Wyatt," she looked almost frightened as she spoke the words, "Is that true?"

"Wouldn't surprise me if it was," Chris shrugged. He remembered that Wyatt had been looking into making alliances a little before he left his side. He distinctly remembered the name Voldemort coming up once or twice. They name struck him as rather odd, for some reason. He'd never met the man, but he had heard of his power. People in Britain feared him, and Chris, of course, had advised Wyatt into joining forces with him. Wyatt hadn't fully made up his mind before he left, but his brother was definitely leaning towards it. Now the war would probably be brought over here, and yet again, he would be to blame.

"You know what really confuses me about the whole war in America," she started, her eyes following the new student's form as he wandered around the dormitory, taking in the room, "Lord Wyatt is the son of Piper Halliwell, a Charmed One," Chris snapped his head in her direction, his eyes instantly locking with hers. Hermione quickly glanced down at the books clutched in her hands and continued, "The Halliwell's are a line of witches--"

"I _know _who the Halliwell's are," he cut in, "I am a witch, if you don't remember. They're epitome of all good in the Wicca world," he waved his hands for emphasis. It wasn't a pleasant thing to think about for Chris any longer. Whenever the Charmed One's were mentioned it always brought back memories. The times he used to play with his cousins, swinging on swings and sliding down slides at the park near his Aunt Phoebe's house, those enormous family dinner's, his mother's delicious cooking...letting his mind wander to the good old days always reminded him of the bad ones; the days he watched them all die.

"Yes," Hermione nodded with a smile, "Then you see why I don't understand. Wyatt was the son of a Charmed One and an Elder, two strong forces of good, and somehow ended up turning so evil."

"Lord Wyatt doesn't believe that he's evil," Chris told the girl, his eyes traveling to the scenery that was out of the window, "He doesn't believe there even _is_ a good or evil, it's just power. That's why you don't understand it," he turned his head to look at the girl. She seemed to somewhat clue into what he was talking about, but he could tell the concept still didn't make complete sense to her, "Wyatt doesn't think of himself as evil, those morals don't exist in his world, therefore, he does whatever it takes to gain power. It's not evil to him as it is to you, and he doesn't believe that he is evil himself. Until you understand how Wyatt thinks, you won't understand why he completely disregards everything he was taught about the concepts of good and evil, and you won't understand how he ended up the way he is."

"So," Hermione started, her mind putting pieces together, "What you're saying is that he doesn't believe he's strayed from the path of good at all, he just believes he gaining power?"

Chris nodded and leaned against the window pane, "That's part of it. Lord Wyatt is a very complex character."

"How do you know so much about him, though?" Hermione questioned, the boy suddenly becoming very suspicious in her eyes. He knew a lot about the dark ruler, it seemed like much more than a normal witch from American should know. Maybe he was actually on Wyatt's side, maybe he was helping Voldemort by being here. . .

Chris hesitated for a second before continuing, "We used to be..." he paused for a moment, trying to come up with the best half lie he could, "Close," he concluded, his eyes traveling to grassy plains outside of the window, "Before the war started, we were best friends, actually."

"So, you used to _know_ Lord Wyatt, before he was Lord Wyatt?" When the teenager nodded, Hermione was instantly drawled in more. A new student from America who had actually been close to Lord Wyatt? Maybe Dumbledore had brought him here to help them fight against Voldemort and him when they time came...

Chris suddenly waved a hand, causing Hermione to slightly step back. She watched with wide eyes as swirls of blue and white orbs suddenly appeared, creating the shapes of a chest at the end of a bed close to her. It amazed her, the Wiccan world. They didn't require wands to perform magic, and each witch had a certain set of active powers. If she remembered correctly, orbing and conjuring were powers that were possessed by whitelighters and the Elders. That must mean that Chris was. . .

"A half-breed, yes," Hermione slightly jumped as the boy finished her thought aloud. He looked up at her with a small smile. He pointed towards his brain and simply stated, "I'm a telepath."

So he could hear her thoughts. He had probably heard everything she'd been thinking about him since they'd first meet; how intrigued she was of him, how she had accused him of being evil...

"I don't listen in _all _the time," he explained, a smirk on his face, "I'm not a nosy person, and, anyway, it's actually rather annoying to hear other people's thoughts in your head. Makes it hard to think with all of the other voices chiming in and out. I block it usually."

She nodded and relaxed, "Do you have anymore active powers?" She had always imagined meeting a witch would be an interesting event, but she never expected to meet a half-breed.

"Yes, a few," Chris flipped open the lid to the chest and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shut the lid down with force and turned to face the brown haired girl.

"You smoke?" she questioned, a little disgusted. Smoking was rarely seen much in the wizarding community, only the occasional pipe. Cigarettes were filled with harmful chemicals and nicotine.

"Stress relief," he explained simply with a shrug of his shoulders. He gave the girl a small smile before nodding his head, "I'll see you later, Miss Granger." He suddenly disappeared into a swirl of orbs, traveling up through the ceiling before vanishing completely.

Hermione stared at the spot he had been standing in just seconds ago, her mind wandering around the character of the new student. She had never been so intrigued by a fellow student before. He was just so mysterious, and those eyes were hiding something big, adding to his mystique. She'd never meet a kid like him before, and she wanted to know more about him. Learn about his powers, his part in the war, if there was any, and especially his relationship with Lord Wyatt. The War in the Americas had always intrigued her and now she would be able to learn more than simply what _The Daily Prophet _told lips curled into a smile and she hugged her books; she really liked this new witch, and she had a feeling Harry and Ron would too.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading, I'll try and get more of this story going and get it posted sooner. I think I have somewhat of a clue where I want this to lead.

In the meantime, please review! I appreciate every one of them!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

Thank you all so much for the reviews for the last chapter! I'm sorry it took me so long to get another one up. I had some serious writer's block.

I believe I can get this going, and I'm going to try hard to keep up with writing this story!

* * *

Harry sat in the school library, books and papers sprawled out on top of the table in front of him. Professor Snape had decided to pile his students up with tons of homework, leaving Harry incredibly irritated. He fumbled with the book in front of him, trying to find the page he needed. Ron sat beside him, head rested in his arms on top of his book. After skimming through the book and finding nothing, Harry let out a frustrated sigh and slammed the book shut.

Ron's head snapped up, awakened by the loud slam, and let his gaze rest on his friend, "I'm trying to sleep here, mate!" he spoke in a harsh whisper, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Sorry Ron," Harry apologized, eyes wandering back down to his homework, "It's just that Snape gave us so much work and I can't find the answers for the life of me." Professor Snape sure knew how to torture a student, Harry mused.

"Just ask Hermione for help," Ron suggested, resting his head back down on his books, "She's like a walking encyclopedia."

"I would have asked her, if she was here," Harry opened up another book and began to flip through it randomly, "She went off to get books twenty minutes ago!"

"Harry, Ron!" The two boys snapped their heads in the direction of the call, falling on the image of their friend rushing towards them, a smile on her face. She clutched her books tightly in her arms.

"Finally," Harry spoke as Hermione took a seat next to him, placing her books on the table, "You've been gone so long. What happened to you?"

"We have a new student!" she exclaimed with excitement, "And he's from America!"

"Wait, what?" Ron chirped in, eyes wide, "I thought America was in some huge war right now?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, looking from Ron to Hermione, "I heard that whole country was on a sort of lockdown or something. Lord Wyatt won't let anyone in _or_ out." The three had read that in _The Daily Prophet_ that morning. Apparently Wyatt had taken his lockdown of the country to new extremes after the escape of some valuable prisoner.

"I don't know how he got out, but he did," she spoke with a smile, "It's just so amazing to have an actual witch in our midsts. I've always been intrigued by the Wiccan world, the way they use magic, their active powers, it's just all so different from our way. . ." she paused for a moment, before staring right back up, "Chris--the new boy--he's a telepath. He can read thoughts and control things with his mind. I don't know what other active powers he has, but I bet he has tons more," a beat, "Oh, and he's a half-breed. He's half witch-half whitelighter, I'm guessing. Half-breeds are extremely rare, they only make up about one-eighth of the Wiccan community. . ."

Ron rolled his eyes at his friend's long rant and rested his head in his hand, "Told ya'," he spoke up, looking towards Harry with a smirk, "walking encyclopedia."

Hermione sent a deadly glare Ron's way, "Fine Ron, I'll stop. But don't think you're getting any help with the homework Snape gave us." She opened on of her books and turned to a specific page.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron spoke, "I was just kidding," She looked up from her book, "Now, seriously, Harry and I need help with Snape's overload on homework."

"Does he know much about the war?" Harry questioned after a brief pause, looking over towards Hermione. He was a bit curious about the new student, as she was, and if it was true what they had heard about an alliance between Voldemort and Lord Wyatt, then any information about America's war would help them greatly.

"Yes, actually," Hermione beamed with enthusiasm, "he told me that he and Lord Wyatt knew each other before the war started. They were 'close,' as he put it," she paused, "he knew Wyatt, so maybe he could help us figure out how he thinks. When I brought Lord Wyatt up, he seemed to know a lot about the way his mind worked."

"Is that why he's here?" Ron chimed in, "Because he was close to Lord Wyatt before he was _Lord _Wyatt?"

"Perhaps," Hermione nodded, "He seems to have a neutral stance in the war though. He told me he wasn't fighting on either side."

"What?" Harry questioned, voice raising slightly, "He isn't fighting with the Resistance?" Harry found this fact outrageous. How could someone just stand around and watch their whole country fall to evil without a fight? If it was his country--which it soon may be--he'd fight along with good. He wouldn't let evil overcome and he wouldn't let innocent people die.

"Lord Wyatt and him were friends," Hermione reminded, "Don't you think it would be hard for you to fight someone you had grown close to?" she inquired, "What if you had to fight Ron or me? Would you really pick up a wand against us without hesitation?"

Harry sat silent for a minute, taking in that scenario. He knew he wouldn't have the heart to hurt Hermione or Ron. They were his best mates, and if they ever did turn against him, he knew it would be incredibly hard to point a wand towards them, intending to harm them in any way.

"It would be hard," Hermione almost spoke his thoughts for him, "I know it would be hard for anyone to fight someone that they once were close to."

"But what if they were so far gone that their old self disappeared completely?" Ron questioned, "What if there was nothing left of the person you knew? There is no way that Lord Wyatt had been like this while he and Chris were friends. He kills his own kind, and I heard that he even killed his own family!" Ron looked from Hermione and Harry, both heads staring down towards the wooden table, "That's just pure evil."

"...There may be," Hermione spoke up shyly, "somewhere inside of him, some small part of him that is still his old self." She looked up at her two friends, "Maybe that's what is keeping Chris from choosing a side. He won't fight for Lord Wyatt, but he won't fight against him either because he still believes the old Wyatt is in there somewhere."

Harry nodded in agreement, "He could still be." Harry understood Chris' reasoning--somewhat--now, and he got how hard it must be to choose a side when both sides seemed wrong.

"Well," Ron spoke up after a long pause, "where is this kid?" His gaze moved towards Hermione, "I want to meet this American half-breed for myself."

* * *

Chris exhaled and released the smoke from his lungs. He watched as the cloud rose up high into the air, swirling around until it disappeared for good. He had been able to locate a peaceful lake, not that far away from the school, that was able to provide him with the privacy and space he needed to think. Chris lay in the grassy meadow, back against the stiff ground, his eyes staring up into the cloudy sky. The sun was setting, laying low near the horizon line, coloring the sky in shades of orange and pink.

As he took puff after puff of his cigarette, he wondered what his father was doing Up There, in Elderland. Probably sitting on his golden throne, shaking his head in disapproval at both Wyatt and him, wondering '_where did I go wrong?'_

Chris snorted at the thought of his absent father, a smirk appearing on his face. The man hadn't done any wrong with him, he'd never been around long enough to leave any lasting impression. Thankfully, he and his father hadn't had much contact since their last meeting on the Golden Gate Bridge. He was beginning to miss that spot. The place had been a great place to think and great place to get away from the chaos bellow.

He remembered the first time Leo had introduced him to the spot. He had been five then, and Wyatt had been seven. It had been that rare occasion when he had been included in a father-son outing, and Leo had orbed them on top of the high bridge. Wyatt hadn't taken well to the height, something he was still not fond of to the day, but had keep up a brave facade.

His father had held his small hand, smiling down at him with excitement. Chris had matched the expression even more enthusiastically. He loved it up there, and was fascinated by the view. Cars rushed down below them, the beautiful city, bright and wide, was spread out in front of them for miles. He had wanted to stay up there for hours, studying the large city and taking in every little detail, but Wyatt wouldn't permit it. He wanted to go home, he hated the height--though he didn't show it--and wanted to play a game of catch before night fell. Leo had quickly obeyed the elder boy's wishes and orbed them back home. Chris had watched from the steps the rest of the night as Leo and Wyatt threw the ball back and forth. Wyatt had forgot to give him a turn.

The jingle of orbs snapped Chris from his memories, and he turned his head to stare at the visitor.

"Wow, I can't believe you had the guts to actually come down here, _Auntie_ Paige," he stared at the brown haired woman, taking a drag from his cigarette leisurely.

"I did what was best for you Chris--"

"No, this is not what's best for me," he snapped up straight, cutting his aunt off with an enraged roar, "I should be back in America, back in that cell, chained up where Wyatt had left me." He stood up and charged over to his aunt, "_You_ should have butted out." He pointed an accusing finger her way.

"Chris, you are my charge, and my nephew," she reminded, voice stern, "I have to protect you and take care of you. I was not going to leave you there and let you die."

"Well," Chris started, crossed his arms, "technically, I did die," he strode off closer to the lake, taking a puff from his cigarette, "Wyatt just resurrected me," he turned to face his aunt, "you of all people should know he'd never let me die, _permanently_," Chris paused, "I'm of too much value to him."

The two just stood, silent, for minutes. Paige couldn't think of what to say. She wanted to apologize, wrap her only living nephew up into a hug, and protect him from his tyrannical brother. She wanted to persuade him to join the Resistance, as she had, and fight to stop Wyatt. Chris wouldn't do it though. He had too much loyalty to Wyatt, and she knew that he'd never be able to harm his brother. They had been so close as kids, the best of friends, and she knew that Chris didn't have the heart to hurt Wyatt, even if deep inside he wanted to. And hell, did he want to. She could see it in his eyes, the fury that seemed to fill him whenever Wyatt was mentioned. He wanted to hurt his brother, but he couldn't. Not because of strength--Chris was the only one strong enough to take on his brother--but because of blood. Chris could not--would not--lose the only living family he had left. Especially by his own hands.

"What do you think this school will do to me?" Chris questioned, breaking the silence. He placed a new cigarette between his lips and lit it, "Make me turn to the Resistance or something?" He let out a laugh, "Because that isn't going to happen, and you know it won't."

"You'll be safe here," she assured her nephew, "that's all I want right now." It wasn't the whole truth--she did hope that Chris would finally come to his senses and join the fight against Wyatt--but she was concerned for his safety more than that at the moment. Wyatt was messing with his mind, she had sensed her charge's pain as his brother meddled and pulled apart at his brain. She knew that anymore would cause Chris to snap, leaving him insane. That was the main reason she enlisted Dumbledore's help. She knew that the old wizard had a teacher at the school that could help Chris fix his mind, and she knew that Dumbledore would be able to get him out without notice and keep him safe within the school.

Chris stared at his aunt for a moment, before simply nodding and taking a seat down by the water. Paige slowly made her way over, sitting down next to her young nephew.

"You know what will happen if he finds me here," Chris spoke up after taking a drag, eyes kept steadily on the water. After a pause, he continued, "He won't let that old wizard live."

"He won't find you," she told her nephew, voice confident, hiding her doubts, "Even if he's made an alliance with Voldemort, he won't find you here."

He turned to glance at his aunt, "How do you know that he won't?"

She paused, thinking for an answer, before speaking up, "I don't," she told Chris, voice laced with dejection. "You're safe for now though, I promise you that."

Chris gave her a simple nod and inhaled. He let the smoke out slowly, eyes studying the calm waters.

"I should really snatch that out of your hands," she commented with a smile, "your mother would kill me if she caught me letting you smoke that thing."

She noticed the small smile appear on her nephew's face, causing her smile to grow even wider. She knew Piper was looking down right now, ranting on about how she'd snatch that thing, along with the whole pack, and chuck it in the lake. Piper was probably about ready to kill her for letting Chris continue to take puff after puff; good thing she was already dead, Paige mused to herself.

She stared at her nephew, who's eyes were still focused on the peaceful waters, and felt a singe of guilt. She wasn't aloud to tell him that she saw his mother regularly. She wasn't aloud to tell him that she was Up There, watching down on her two sons, wishing that she could make contact with any one of them. The Elders had made it clear to both sisters that Piper was not allowed to see Chris or Leo. For Chris, it was a punishment--a cruel punishment, in Paige's opinion. They knew how much Chris missed his mother, they knew how much it had torn him apart, but they wouldn't agree to let Piper visit him until he chose to join the Resistance. Paige was the only sister allowed to make contact with any of the two living Halliwells, since she was born half-whiteligther and assigned to Chris and Wyatt before she had died. The Elders felt the need to punish the only living Halliwell that was still under their domain until he went the way they pleased.

Paige heard the familiar chime of bells in her head, and rolled her eyes in exasperation at the Elders. They were calling her for a meeting about Chris, she knew that already. Leo would be there, but she would keep the boy's whereabouts a secret from him. She knew Chris didn't want anything to do with his father right now--that was why he blocked the estranged man from sensing him, obviously--and she would respect that wish, for now. She looked over towards her nephew, who was now back to laying on his back, exhaling smoke from his lungs in a cloud. His eyes stared up at the sky--up where the Elders and his mother were watching his every move--as he inhaled again from the stick that rested between his lips.

"I have to go," she told her nephew, catching the boy's gaze as she spoke, "I'll check on you sometime soon, I promise."

"I don't need to be checked up on," he informed his aunt, removing the stick from his lips, "I am fully capable of taking care of myself." He hated how his aunt seemed to deem him incapable of caring for himself. He was sixteen years old for heaven's sake, he could handle a simple task like that.

"Well, humor me, then. Will you?" she gave her a nephew a small smile as she stood up, "I like to be needed."

He gave a weak smile in return, waving at her with his hand, "I'll be seeing you soon then, Aunt Paige."

With that, Paige orbed out, smile still intact, leaving Chris to lay in the grass by himself.

The sun had finally set, Chris noted, and the sky had turned from the swirls of pink and orange into the darkness of early night. His head cocked towards the castle, staring at the huge structure in the moonlight. It looked sturdy and strong, protecting the students inside with it's heavy brick walls. If Wyatt did find him, then those walls definitely would not last for long.

He sighed and turned his head, putting out the cigarette in the grass. He shut his eyes and took in the sound of silence. An odd calm fell over him, slowly--something that he hadn't felt for weeks. It was too good to be true, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this peace would not last as long as he'd want it to.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed the chapter!

Once again, sorry it took me so long! I'll work on getting chapters up faster, and writing them as well, haha.

In the meantime, please review! I appreciate every single one of them!

:)


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